


A Dream of Home

by Renee561



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Mentions Injury, Soldier!Jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-23 10:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15604212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Renee561/pseuds/Renee561
Summary: A soldier thinks of home.





	A Dream of Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashwritesstuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashwritesstuff/gifts).



> So this is really late. The muse was noncoopperative this week. This is for the Friday Fic Challenge by Isola. It is another Soldier!Jaime.
> 
> To those that read my other Soldier!Jaime fic, I hope this helps heal your hearts.
> 
> Unbetaed and mistakes are mine. The word limit went over, I tried, but muse is demanding words.
> 
> Enjoy

He dreamed of her.  
  
He dreamed of her smiling and laughing at something he’d whisper in her ear; something usually naughty to make her blush.  
  
He dreamed of her holding a child in the crook of her arm. Their child with a mop of golden curls and her astonishing blue eyes.  
  
He dreamed of getting his papers to leave the force and go to her.  
  
The problem lay that they were in the middle of war, his dreams kept him fighting, breathing, moving to stay alive. As did the band on his finger, the reminder that she was his for all time. She wrote monthly and the letters were his beacon of light in this hell hole. His hope.  
  
It hadn't started that way. In fact, when they met, they despised each other. He had worked at his father’s firm and she had been at the enlistment office, recruiting for the war effort. Not becasue she believed in the war itself, but the principles of peace. Of knowing that children all over the world can rest at night without the threat of being blown to bits.  
  
He recalls his first words to her, accusing her of being a stupid, idealistic wench. She in turn called him a smarmy, war profiteer. His father was that, he hated what he was doing at the time, but what else could he do?  
  
They argued for ten minutes, drawing a crowd and not surprisingly her conviction in her tone and retorts got men to sign up, even a few women.  
  
He even signed up to her shock. It was after the ink had dried, he noticed more about her than her ideals, like her face. She was not a beauty, but her eyes spoke to him in ways that had him longing to see them burning in a thousand different ways.  
  
He went through training and she was there every step of the way. Motivating the recruits and pushing his buttons every time she opened her too wide mouth. He hadn't thought he would finish training. He had thought more times of quitting than anything before; his pride and her encouragement was the only thing that kept him going those days.  
  
His family didn't understand, his father was enraged. His twin disgusted. His brother off to gods know where, doing gods know what. She became the only person he could talk to about this war, the training at first, then it was other things, small things.  
  
Eventually, he’d admitted to himself and her that he was attracted and in love. Years later, she was his and he was hers.  
  
He rubbed his eyes as the signal came.  A sharp, piercing whistle from his faithful commander Bronn. Of course the man was their spy within the ranks of the enemy, having been born with a natural looks and charm. They would get through this. Then he was going home. Home to his wife, his wench, his love.

-

He walked off the plane, his duffle in one hand, his jacket folded over the other, hiding it from sight.  
  
His eyes scanned the crowd looking for his tall wench. He frowned as he didn't see her. The woman was hard to miss, tall, broad, big blue astonishing eyes. Especially, when he’s dreamed of her every night for the past two years.

Without fail, every night, he dreamed of her. When his homecoming was delayed because of his injury, he still dreamed of her, clung to the hope of home.

Her unanswered letters were laced with worry, but hopefully she knew about the hand. Hope she knew, he wanted to write back, but his hand was practically useless now. He couldn't grip anything, not like he used to. He was honorably discharged, thanked for his services, and put on a plane back home.  
  
Home to his wife, home to his father’s firm now under his leadership as his father died a year ago. His brother still gone and his sister outed by their shareholders. His eyes kept roaming the tarmac for a sight of his wife, but still she alluded his vision. He tensed when he felt someone come behind him.

He turned and there she was, his beautiful wife. She'd grown her hair out, it reached the top of her shoulders now. He wasn't used to anything but the crop style he met her in. Then again it was Brienne, so it mattered not.

“Wench,” he smirked.

Her blue eyes flashed briefly until he dropped his bag and cupped her face and kissed her. _Home_ , he thought as he dropped his jacket and wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tighter to his body.

She pulled him close by his long hair, and he felt as if he could breathe again. If this was a dream let him never wake from it.


End file.
